


And in Sunshine the Waters Lie Sleeping

by coldgreydawn



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: 1960s, Babies, Childbirth, Children, Christmas Fluff, Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Marriage, Motherhood, Nurses & Nursing, Pregnancy, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldgreydawn/pseuds/coldgreydawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shelagh and Patrick get what they'd prayed for, but find that all is not as rosy as they'd anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

December 20, 1960 

Christmas was all in bloom at Nonnatus House once more. The clinic this Tuesday was quite full, with mothers and babies and children filling the seats, chattering. The door burst open and Fred hefted this year’s rather large Christmas tree into the hall, leaving a pleasing aroma of pine and a trail of needles in its wake, much to the dismay of Nurse Franklin, who followed the caretaker out of the building insisting he find a broom and sweep it up at once. 

Love and life permeated the air in the Ante-natal Clinic, bursting forth in the squeals and joyful laughter of the children, in Nurse Mount's laughter as she watched Trixie traipse out into the snow to shout at Fred, and in Tim Turner’s words of encouragement to his little sister Angela, who was toddling toward him on unsteady legs, not quite getting the knack of this 'walking' thing quite yet. From time to time, these children’s parents, both seeing to patients behind the screens, took a peek, offering the two words of encouragement. 

Shelagh Turner couldn’t have felt happier that morning, as she set to measuring the fundal height of her patient, young Mrs. McMurchy, all blonde hair and ivory skin, looking impossibly young. Much too young to be a mother, surely, but here Shelagh was, listening to the baby’s strong, quick, heartbeat through the Pinard horn. 

Mrs. Turner wouldn’t have been feeling quite so blissful had the symptoms that had been plaguing her for the last few weeks not let up the day before. She felt herself again, and was happy to work without having to hide the dizziness from her husband. She hadn’t wanted to worry him, and, as well, a part of her was fearful. 

She knew she was being foolish hiding this from him, having only recovered from Tuberculosis two years previous, but it was nearing Christmas, and things always got busier at this time of year, both at home and at work. 

On top of their normal duties, there would be the inevitable diabetic treacle overdoses, the drunkards who nearly drank themselves to death, and heart and gallbladder attacks brought on by greasy Christmas feasts. There was no time to worry about her right now. And, as well, she’d felt much healthier in the past few days. She was certain this would be the last of it. 

So as she helped Mrs. McMurchy out of bed, giving her the parting advice to take it easy and leave the heavy lifting to her husband (as they’d recently been rehoused) she went back toward the table to check the chart for the name of her next patient. Her clipboard clumsily fell out of her hands to the floor, and grumbling, she bent down to pick it up. When she stood, the world suddenly shifted and she felt so dizzy she could barely keep her balance. She heard her husband’s voice calling her name, but she couldn’t respond. She was falling, falling into the abyss, and her attempts to stop herself were all in vain. 

And then there was only blackness. 


	2. Chapter 2

She awoke to Patrick listening to her chest with his stethoscope. She was very confused. How had she gotten into a bed? She was a nurse, she wasn’t supposed to be in the beds. Those were for patients. And what was Patrick doing? She was fine, she didn’t need— 

“Shelagh, keep still, please,” he said, and she stopped cold. There was real fear in his voice, and it brought her back to where she was. What had happened? It was a little hazy, but she remembered the clipboard, standing up, feeling dizzy, and then…nothing. 

_Oh no_ , she thought, panic rising in her breast as her husband attended to her, _I fainted. Right in the middle of clinic._

Now Patrick was checking her eyes, checking pupil response. _So much for this being behind us_ , she thought, with growing dread. She couldn’t even meet Patrick’s eye. She was terrified. What if the TB had never been cured? What if it’d just laid dormant for years and now it was back and she had infected her entire family? 

“I’m sorry, Patrick,” she said. 

“You don’t have to apologize for fainting, Shelagh,” he said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “I’m just very worried about you, is all.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You gave me quite a scare when I saw you fall. You’re lucky you didn’t hit your head.” 

“I hope no one saw,” she said, looking around. They seemed to be the only two behind the screens at the moment. “I don’t want everyone worrying about me.” 

“You were lucky, there. Patsy just happened to catch sight of me lifting you into bed and I asked if she could hold the patients at bay until I got you stabilised.” 

He reached over to cup her cheek and she closed her eyes at the touch, wishing they could just stay here like this all day. No children, no patients, no Christmas. It hit her now that she was incredibly exhausted, had been for quite some time. Oh, how she’d just like a couple of weeks away, not an infant nor pregnant woman in sight. She looked up to see Patrick watching her keenly, concern creasing his brow. 

“How did my chest sound?” she asked. 

“Fine. No crackles. Not a one.” She breathed a small sigh of relief and looked up to see her husband frowning. “Have you feeling alright, Shelagh? I noticed the other day you were looking a bit peaky, but I just thought you were tired.” She closed her eyes, took a breath, and swallowed her pride. 

“I've had dizziness, off and on for the past three, four weeks. Indigestion for longer than that.” 

“Nausea?” 

“No, not really. Why? What did you find in your examination?” Her husband seemed to be thinking, mulling something over in his head. 

“Heart rate was a little elevated, blood pressure a little lower than I’d like. It’s probably why you fainted. Your respiration is up and your skin is flushed, but no fever, just slightly higher temperature than normal. Otherwise you’re healthy as a horse.” He was watching her as he listed his findings, waiting for it to sink in, make sense to her as it did to him. She could see that, but she had no idea— _Oh. Oh, no no._ She looked up at him in a panic. 

“But they said it could never happen, Patrick,” she pleaded. Oh, she couldn’t get her hopes up, she had to know. 

“I believe the doctor’s words were that it was ‘unlikely’ to happen, Shelagh. Doctors know that there are no guarantees. And the human body’s a marvelous thing. Sometimes it can surprise even the most hardened of us.” He turned and picked up a Pinard, an instrument she had used so many times on so many women, but had never been used on her. “When was your last menstrual period?” 

She shook her head, trying to remember back the months. “It’d been somewhat regular for a while, that’s why I thought it odd when it stopped like that. But I’d never have dreamed—” 

“When was it, Shelagh?” 

“July, I think. It was around Timothy’s birthday.” 

“And when did you start feeling symptoms?” 

“Not more than a month ago, Patrick. I promise I’d have told you if I felt something was truly wrong. It was just light-headedness and heartburn. I didn’t think anything of it.” He nodded, appeased. 

“Let’s see that belly, then,” he said, and the two of them worked to unbutton the front of her uniform and pull the silk slip up over her abdomen. 

Shelagh gasped. Now, here lying prone on the bed, she could see a slight distension when she looked down. Maybe a little more than slight. 

How had neither of them noticed it? That little rounding poking out below her navel. It was barely noticeable but to the trained eye, but then, that was what both of them were. 

But they were also the busy, working parents of two very energetic children and there hadn’t been a lot of time for much in the way of intimacy for a while. In truth, Shelagh had had hardly any time to spend on herself in the last little while either, as Angela became more mobile and the clinic busier. She’d missed it. They both had. 

“Oh, Shelagh,” Patrick said, a small smile blooming on his lips. She couldn’t believe it. Had she really hit her head? Was this a fevered dream of the concussed? She pinched herself. Apparently it was not. Patrick had already gotten out the measuring tape and was determining her fundal height. She gasped as he pushed down on her pubic bone and ran the tape up over her abdomen. 

No, this couldn’t be real. She’d just done this to young Mrs. McMurchy, fertile and full of life, cheeks rosy and bright. Untouched by disease or misfortune. 

Not like her, Shelagh Turner, barren by the same disease that had kept her in a sanatorium for months. Her insides eaten away. Damaged, scarred, unable to conceive a child and certainly unable to carry a child to—she took note of the measurement Patrick had made—twenty-three weeks' gestation? 

“Twenty-three weeks, Patrick?” she felt faint. _Five months._ Five months she’d been carrying this child inside her and she hadn’t even known? How? 

“You haven’t felt movements yet, Shelagh? No kicking yet?” 

She shook her head. “I haven’t exactly been paying attention,” she told him, and he nodded. Then she gasped again as the cold Pinard pressed against the side of her belly. She could hardly breathe as Patrick listened. 

She watched his face as he moved it around a little, and then—and he turned his head to look at her with such an exuberant smile she felt tears prick her eyes. He nodded, and the tears fell. She laid back against the bed as he finished, so full of emotion she couldn’t even really pick one at this point. 

_She was pregnant._

“140 beats per minute, more or less. Fits for a 23-weeker,” he turned and placed the fetoscope on the table, turning back to his weeping wife. “Shelagh,” he said softly, handing her a tissue. “It’s what we wanted, isn’t it?” 

“I know, Patrick, I know,” she said, as he sat down beside her bed, grasping her free hand with his own. “I never thought it would happen. I’d prepared myself that I’d never give birth to a child. I thought our family was complete.” She dabbed at her eyes as the guilt rose up, catching her by surprise in its intensity. “And what sort of mother doesn’t even realise she’s pregnant for five months? Tell me that!” 

“I’d say a hard-working mother who spends all her waking moments either showering her two children with love or working hard to help women and the sick and infirm. And not to mention dealing with her nightmare of a husband on top of that.” She laughed at that, a wet chuckle, and then promptly blew her nose into the tissue he’d provided her. 

“Patrick?” 

“Yes, my love?” 

“Are you sure it’s alright, the baby?” 

“From everything I’ve seen and heard, you and baby seem completely healthy. You’ll need more tests and…with everything that’s happened I’d like to send you back to the gynecologist who did your surgery, just to make sure. That okay with you?” 

She nodded. They would need to know the TB hadn’t done any damage that would lead to complications down the road. 

“And Patrick?” 

“Yes, dear?” 

“I…I’d like to keep this quiet for a little bit, okay? I know you’d like nothing better than to shout it from the rooftops,” he smiled a little guiltily at this, “but if something goes wrong—” 

“Shelagh, I can’t promise you that nothing will go wrong, but the fact that you’ve gotten this far along without any complications is a very good sign. I read the report from the doctor. The damage was most pronounced in your fallopian tubes, which caused the infertility. There was some mild scar tissue in the endometrium that explained your irregular cycle, but as you said, your cycle had regulated in the months before you became pregnant, correct?” 

She nodded, slowly. 

“Your body’s healing, Shelagh. Scar tissue _can_ diminish with time. An egg was released, it was fertilised and found its way to the uterus where it implanted. Simple as that. We got lucky, but it’s no reason to keep this a secret, especially from the staff. And especially as they’ll be able to keep an eye on you when I’m not around. They’re good at what they do, you know that.” 

“I know, but not…yet. I’d like it if I could take the children now and go home. I’m so very tired, Patrick. You finish up here, and we’ll talk about it when you get home, okay?” 

“Okay,” he said, and she felt his warm hand lay itself on her still-exposed abdomen. She smiled, in spite of herself. 

“Three children, Patrick,” she said as he pushed gently against her belly. “How’re we going to manage?” 

Gently, he picked up her hand, placing it against the side of her stomach. “Wait for it,” he said, and then she felt it—a little kick, a little fluttery movement against her hand. _Her baby. Their_ baby. And now it all made sense. That movement that she’d thought had been gas or upset stomach for the past week or so. It’d been the baby kicking, moving about. Alive, despite everything. 

Her and Patrick’s child was growing inside her. They were going to be parents again. Angela would be a big sister, have a playmate nearer to her own age, a friend for life. Tim would be brilliant with both of them. 

She smiled at her husband then, a big, toothy, exultant smile. 

“I think we’ll manage,” Patrick said, in that way of his that was somewhat overconfident but also completely reassuring at the same time. Oh, how she loved him. It would be okay. It would all be fine. He leaned down and kissed her and she felt it again, that little fluttering. 

Oh, this was a miracle! Truly. She could think of no other word for it. 

“Take the kids,” he said, standing. She buttoned the front of her dress back up, noticing now that it was just a little snug below her navel. How had she missed that? The pull of it against her belly gave her a little thrill while it terrified her at the same time. She could still scarcely believe it. “I’ll see you after clinic,” Patrick said, snaking his arm around her waist from behind and gently pulling her toward him. “Try not to worry too much, okay?” he whispered in her ear. She laid her hand over his atop her midsection, right above the place where their child currently resided. 

“Okay,” she said, nodding while her heart, betraying her, beat very quickly beneath her breast. He kissed her temple, gently. 

“Everything is going to be fine, Shelagh.” 

She nodded again and smiled. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and stepped out into the hall, ignoring the looks she got. She picked up Angela and grabbed a protesting Timothy’s hand, explaining that they were going home. 

Tim helped her dress the baby, then got their coats. Ready for the December chill, she held the little girl closely to her as they exited the building and headed to the car. She heard Trixie calling the next patient to be seen by the doctor as they left, but only one thought repeated itself in her head as she got the children in the car. 

_Please, God, let everything turn out alright._


	3. Chapter 3

Tim, of course, was all questions as they left the clinic and got settled at home. She put Angela down for a nap, and the little girl nodded off without any complaint. She smiled at her little face, slack and innocent in sleep, and stroked her cheek gently. Their daughter had lived up to the name they’d picked for her. She’d been a good baby, right from the start. Only cried when she was hungry or wet, slept through the night from six months on. 

Right now, with her help, Patrick was managing his work load. He had recovered from his setback after the Prendergast case. He was cutting back on the cigarettes, even, after Tim noted his nicotine-stained fingers and the sallow pallor of his skin and informed his father that he’d been reading about the detrimental effects on cigarette-smoking in _The Lancet_. Grumbling, Patrick had resolved to remove all copies of the medical journal from their home. He hadn’t followed through, however. 

Angela was nearing her first birthday and was toddling, standing with help and soon to be walking. It’d been easy to care for her while she was an infant, sitting in a pram, but as a toddler she would need more intensive supervision. Tim wouldn’t be around all the time, and surely it wasn’t fair to the boy to designate him his sister’s defacto babysitter. 

And, now, in four short months they’d be welcoming another little life into the world. She wouldn’t be able to hide it for much longer, that was certain. In a few weeks' time it would be unmistakable beneath her pale blue uniform. She could start wearing jumpers or cardigans over the dress, she supposed, keeping her belly hidden from prying eyes for at least another couple of weeks. But she knew once she was well into her third trimester there would be no hiding it anymore. She’d seen so many first-time mothers barely showing through the first two-thirds of their pregnancy until one day they seemed to just…inflate, overnight. 

And not to mention Patrick would be watching her like a hawk, encouraging her to take it easy, while taking over most of the workload himself. And what if something did go wrong? She’d seen what could; placental abruption, stillbirth, prematurity, birth defects, a breech baby.

She had thought her little family complete. That was not to say that she didn’t dream that one day, when Angela was older and Tim was away at school, no doubt following in his father’s footsteps, that maybe a little miracle would come along. If they kept trying, eventually one had to stick, right? 

She hadn’t anticipated this happening so quickly. 

Things were balanced now. They had a system that worked and they all had their own job to do to keep it working. If she had to slow down now, or go on bedrest, how would Patrick cope? 

A teardrop landed on the wooden frame of Angela’s cot and she realised she’d been crying. Hastily, she wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath. Supper would need to be made. Patrick would be home soon and hungry, and Timothy would no doubt be ravenous, as he was growing like a weed, seemingly gaining another inch or two every time she saw him. She took a deep breath and turned to go to the kitchen. 

Said boy was watching her from the door. 

“Timothy!” she said, surprised. 

“What’s wrong, Mum?” he asked, taking a few tentative steps into the room. “Why did we have to leave the clinic so early? I heard some of the patients whispering, saying you were sick or something. Patsy tried to shush them but I heard anyway.” Shelagh sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed near the baby’s cot, feeling the fabric pull at the little swelling of her abdomen. She looked up at Tim. 

“I’m fine, Timothy. Please don’t worry,” she told him, though she barely convinced herself. 

“You were crying,” he said, entering the bedroom and sitting down beside her on the bed. 

“I’m just tired, that’s all. I just…I stood up too quickly at the clinic and I fainted. Your father saw and came right away. That’s what the women were talking about. But I’m fine, I promise.” She smiled at the boy reassuringly, patting him on the back. 

“You’re going to have a baby, aren’t you?” the boy asked. She could only gawp at him. 

“Timothy! How—” 

“I read that fainting is common in the first two...er…thirds of pregnancy due to decreased blood pressure. And your uniform has been getting a little tight in the front. Didn’t you notice? I thought you and Dad knew and were just waiting to tell me.” Shelagh could only shake her head at the boy in front of her. Twelve years old and already with a sharp enough eye to catch things his educated parents missed. 

“Well it would have been helpful if you could've mentioned that to me or your father. We’ve been so busy lately that it came as a surprise to both of us today. Which is certainly quite appalling considering what we do for a living.” Tim shrugged. 

“But it was the doctors that told you that you couldn’t have children. That’s why you adopted Angela. So how would you know? It’s not your fault, it’s _their_ fault. They should have told you that it _could_ happen some day, that way you would be prepared if it did.” Shelagh smiled and shook her head at the boy. “Did you know I read that at least 12 percent of women with scarring of the Fallopian tubes women end up conceiving? And sometimes even after a tubal ligation the tubes can grow back together and allow an egg to pass?” 

“Timothy! Where on earth do you get this information from?” 

“Library. I go there sometimes to read the journals. It’s not far from here and they’ve got quite the selection.” Again Shelagh was speechless. She’d known this boy since he was wee, barely older than Angela. And here he was speaking like a second-year medical student. 

“Come here, you,” she told him, pulling his still-gangly frame into her arms. No matter how wisely he spoke, he was still her little boy. He would never forget his mother, of course, and she would never expect him to. But Shelagh was the only mother he had now. _She_ was the one he came to with his questions and ideas, who tended to his scrapes and cuts and nursed him through his illnesses. He was her son in every way that mattered. 

“When is the baby due?” he asked, softly after a few seconds of companionable silence. She quickly did the math in her head. 

“Erm…April. Late April, more or less.” 

“But that’s only four months away!” he said. She nodded slowly. Those four short months would go by very quickly if they were as busy as the previous four. Still, she had Angela’s baby clothes boxed away in the hope that someday they might expand their family, and she knew Chummy could help out with some if the baby turned out to be a boy. And they still had the pram and the little cot Angela'd slept in as a newborn. That wouldn't be too much of a problem. 

But their home only had two bedrooms—one for Tim, and one for them and Angela. Short of moving to a larger home (and she couldn’t think of when they’d possibly find the time), they’d need to move her cot in order to make room for baby. 

And to where? It wasn’t fair to Tim to have a toddler waking him up all hours. The living room? Have both babies in their room with them? That was a guaranteed way to ensure that neither parents nor children got any substantial amount of sleep. 

She sighed. She was starting to feel that panic that so many of the women she had cared must have felt. One in nappies and one on the way, trying to make room and manage. Trying to give the older child his space. 

And while they were considerably better off than most of those women, there was still the matter of the workload: the surgery and the clinic, not to mention the numerous house calls they were often sent on. And, as well, they had to think about who would care for the children they already had. Hire a nanny or a housekeeper? Could they afford that? She’d have to ask Patrick. She sighed again. 

All her dreams were coming true. A big family, a wonderful husband. A career she valued and excelled at. So why did she feel so overwhelmed? 

“You know, I can help, Mum,” Tim told her, and she smiled, “I can take care of Angela whenever you need me to. I like doing it, really.” 

“Oh, Timothy. You shouldn’t have to. You’re still a boy! It doesn’t matter that you’re cleverer than boys much older than you, you’re still supposed to be out having fun. Playing football, spending time with other children. You shouldn’t have to care for your sister all the time.” 

“I don’t mind, Mum, really! I’ve got Cubs still. And violin lessons. And school. That’s enough socialising for me, really.” 

Shelagh laughed, kissing him on the temple fiercely. 

“What did I do to deserve a son like you?” Tim shrugged. 

“All you really had to do was love my dad,” he said, and she laughed, stroking his back. 

“ _That_ part was easy,” she said, thinking back to how naturally things had developed between them. It hadn't taken much. Mend a few buttons here and there, a few long looks in the old kitchen at Nonnatus House. Seeing him working tirelessly despite his wife's untimely death, doing his best to be a good father. The arduous birth of Mave Carter's twins had been the turning point. The way he looked at her after that; she had known then it was hopeless. Then a certain three-legged race. She smiled, running her finger over the fading scar on her hand. 

“I think that about you all the time, you know?” Tim said, interrupting her reverie. Shelagh looked down at the boy in confusion. “How lucky _I_ am. I never thought things would be good again after Mum died. I thought it would be just us forever and it would always feel like someone was missing. But then he fell in love with you and I knew everything would be okay again. He loves you so much, you know?” Shelagh didn’t know when the tears had started but there they were, falling down her cheeks and leaving dark wet marks on her pale blue uniform. “He wouldn’t have been able to manage without you. You made him whole again.” 

A sob escaped her throat and she pulled the boy tight to her, burying her face in his hair. Oh, how she loved him. He hadn’t come from her body, just as Angela hadn’t, and yet she loved them both more than life itself. And already she felt such strong feelings for this little life fluttering around inside her, after only a few hours of discovering it even existed. It was dangerous, this love, terrifying. But it was so primal, so _human_. Shelagh wouldn't have it any other way. Her decision to leave the order had been the right one. She was meant to be a mother, by whatever means her children came to her. She loved them all the same. 

She pulled away from Tim, cursing her hormones (she had been a little more weepy than usual lately, she realised now) and kissed him soundly on the top of the head. 

“I love you, Timothy,” she said, and the boy smiled shyly. “And I thank you for the kind words. They mean more to me than you’ll ever know.” He beamed at her. “Now go wash up get ready for supper, your father will be home soon.” 

Tim nodded, leaving her and the sleeping babe in the quiet. Her hand went to her belly again, feeling the baby’s tiny frame brushing against her hand. She smiled. It was such a powerful feeling, to hold a life inside you and feel it growing and moving. Truly, she would have been happy whether she ever bore a child or not, with her lovely husband and the joys that were Angela and Tim. 

But pregnancy was already proving to be something she was very happy to be allowed to experience. The feeling that her body was more than just a means of getting around. It was nourishing and developing a new life, sheltering it from harm. There was something comforting in carrying this little life around, in having it with her at all times. She smiled as the baby gave another particularly hard kick. Yes, she could certainly get used to this.


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick got home a few hours later, just as she pulled the shepherd's pie out of the oven to cool. She’d just checked on Angela, still asleep, though she’d need to be woken up soon. Tim, as per usual, was in his room reading.

She turned when he entered, stepping out into the living room so she could see him. Unsurprisingly, and despite the ten-hour day he'd just worked, a big wide grin broke out on his face as soon as he saw her.

She was helpless to follow, striding forward, beaming brightly at him. They met near the sofa, and almost melted into each other, Shelagh laying her head against his chest.

“Hello, my love,” he said, dropping a kiss upon her head. “My loves, I suppose,” he corrected himself, and she laughed a little against his chest. “That wasn't a dream earlier, was it, Shelagh?” he asked. “We’re really going to be having a baby in a few short months?”

“No, it wasn't a dream, Patrick,” she said, “though it feels like one. But baby has scarcely stopped moving about since I got home.” He looked down at her, his eyes alight with joy. “I have a feeling this one’s not going to be the little darling Angela is. She’s quite energetic.”

“She?” Patrick asked, eyebrow raised.

“Call it mother’s intuition. Just have a feeling. I remember my father telling me that I kept my mother awake all hours during her pregnancy, while my brother was quite lethargic.” She laughed, looking up into her husband’s dark eyes. “I can't imagine what it's going to be like in a month, or two.”

“I can't wait,” he said, his right hand reaching up to cup her cheek. "You are going to be the most beautiful pregnant woman Poplar’s even seen. And it’s seen a lot of them." She chuckled, feeling rather comforted in spite of her previous doubts. Somehow having him here with her made all her worries seem far away.

“Well, I suspect this little one will be payback for all the hell I put my father through when I was a girl.” She rubbed her belly as the baby shifted again. Patrick smirked.

“Ah, and I can’t wait to hear more of _those_ stories,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re incorrigible, Dr. Turner. Isn’t it enough that I’m already in the family way?” He laughed.

“I hope you’re not implying we stop just because it’s done the trick?” he asked, touching his forehead to hers.

“I wasn’t implying that in the least,” she whispered, getting a little thrill from watching his eyes darken with desire and feeling him pull her closer to him. “Though I definitely did not mean right now, right here on the sofa,” she scolded, trying very hard to feign disapproval at his naughtiness, to pretend that she didn’t very much want to do what she had just recommended they shouldn’t.

The truth was, it _had_ been a while. Just a little more than a week since the last time, both of them so tired with the baby, with Timothy and his schoolwork and his unending questions, with the surgery and the clinic that more often than not, one would come to bed to find the other already completely fast asleep. Truthfully, it’d been like that for a few months. She supposed it was a wonder she managed to fall pregnant at all.

With a new baby on the way, that would be the first thing they’d have to start putting more effort into: carving out more time for just the two of them to spend together. She made a mental note to try a little harder from now on. Enlist Chummy or some of the Nonnatans to watch the children once in a while, go out to the theatre, or to the pictures.

They’d never had time as just husband and wife since their honeymoon, what with Timothy and then Angela coming along not much later. And now there were barely four months left before two children became three. They’d be outnumbered, then. It would be chaos if they weren’t ready.

Patrick cocked his head at her, feigning disappointment. “Shame,” he said, and she giggled.

“Now, no more dirty talk, you,” she said, tapping him firmly in the chest with her finger, “Timothy’s only in the next room. _And_ it’s time for supper. Go wash up and set the table, and I’ll get the baby.” Patrick leaned down to kiss her softly yet soundly, his eyes never leaving hers even as he pulled away. She felt the flush rising on her cheeks as she realised that this kiss was a promise. A promise that tonight, once the children were asleep, no matter how exhausted they both were, they would spend some time together as husband and wife. She nodded imperceptibly at him and he winked, and then, just like that changed the subject.

“What’s Tim up to?”

“Oh, I expect reading up on the latest advances in obstetric medicine in _The Lancet_ ,” she said, making her way toward the bedroom to get Angela.

“You told him?” Patrick asked, surprised. Shelagh shook her head.

“I didn't have to tell him, Patrick. Apparently, he already knew. I told him it would have been nice if he'd have let us in on the secret.”

“What? How?”

“He noticed my expanding waistline. And I suppose I got a little faint in front of him a few times. I tried to hide it but he's an incredibly observant boy.” 

“Tell me about it. He's all but forced me to quit smoking. And somehow he knows when I've had one. It can be hours later and he'll still know.” They laughed. “He'll be quite the physician some day.”

“He’s had a great teacher.”

“He’s had _two_ great teachers,” Patrick told her, pointing his finger at her. “And,” he said, grinning mischievously, “at least we won’t have to worry about who’s going to support us in our old age.” He knocked on the boy’s bedroom door.

“Patrick,” Shelagh scolded, but she was still smiling at his little joke when she entered the bedroom to find Angela standing up in her cot, awake and beaming back at her.

Σ

“When the baby comes, where are you going to put Angela?” Tim asked, sometime later, taking a sip of his milk before picking up his fork again and continuing to annihilate his mashed potatoes. Shelagh couldn’t believe that so much food could fit in such a slight frame.

“Well, we haven’t really had a chance to talk about that, Tim,” Patrick said, catching Shelagh’s eye. She’d barely had a chance to attend to her own meal, as Angela was choosing today of all days for her first incidence of fussy eating. Peas, apparently, were not to her liking this evening, as she’d spit out every one of her mother’s attempts to feed them to her. “Here,” Patrick said, his eyes on Shelagh’s nearly-untouched plate of food, “I’ll take over there. You eat. I can’t have you fainting on me in the clinic again.”

Shelagh attempted a half-hearted protest before handing the baby’s bowl to her husband. She reluctantly began to tuck into her own dinner, relishing at being able to eat unperturbed. She had been starving, and realised a little guiltily that she’d been neglecting her diet lately. It was the likely reason her pregnancy had gone undetected as long as it had; she was fairly certain she’d lost close to a stone since Patrick’s episode with the Prendergrast baby.

But there would be no more of that now, she thought. She’d seen the effect malnutrition of the mother had on babies; low birth weight, infections, developmental delays. She needed to start eating better, and eating more. Her body was no longer her own for the next few months.

“I suppose she could stay in our room, Patrick,” she suggested between forkfuls, as her husband tried to catch the pureed peas dribbling out of their daughter’s mouth. “She could stay in her cot on the floor and we could put the baby in a bassinet near the bed?” Patrick nodded, shrugging. “I can’t bear the thought of waking up and not seeing her little face staring back at me.” Shelagh smiled at her daughter, and the baby grinned gummily back at her.

“It’ll work for a while, Shelagh, but in a year or so you know she’ll need a proper bed and some space of her own to sleep.”

“I know,” she said, stroking her daughter’s hair, “but I don’t want her feeling left out, Patrick. I don’t ever want her to feel that she’s any less a part of this family because she’s the only child not related to one of us by blood.”

“I don’t think that’s ever going to be possible, my love,” Patrick said softly, “the three of us dote on her enough to make Sister Evangelina raise an eyebrow. I’m fairly certain she thinks we’re spoiling her.” He lifted a spoonful of mashed potatoes to the baby’s mouth and she ate it gratefully. Potatoes, apparently, were perfectly palatable. Peas were off the menu for now, it would seem, as evidence by the green-stained bib had around the baby’s neck.

“Have you told anyone yet?” Tim asked, scooping up the last dregs from his plate onto his fork. He’d cleaned his plate a second time quicker than Shelagh had been able to eat half of her first helping.

“No,” she said, catching Patrick’s eye. “We will. I’d just like to do so at my own pace, if you two don’t mind. I don’t want everyone worrying about me.” 

“But, Mum, this is big news! Everyone will be totally thrilled. You have to tell them!”

“And I will, Timothy,” Shelagh said, trying to keep the mild impatience out of her voice. “If you both would just oblige me a few days. I promise by Christmas we can start spreading the news. Agreed?” Both men nodded at her, mollified for now. “Besides, in a few weeks or so everyone will know. I’ll have to enlist Chummy to manufacture me a maternity nursing uniform.” She shook her head, still a little bit in disbelief.

“Now _that_ is going to be a sight,” Patrick said, glancing at his giggling son and completely ignoring the withering look his wife was giving him.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Shelagh left the baby with Patrick, who assured her it was completely fine, as he had a couple of errands to run anyway and had already planned to open the surgery a little later than usual.

She kissed her daughter goodbye, brushing the blonde wisps out of her eyes. She’d be due for her first haircut soon if it kept growing as fast as this.

She knew that it more likely that Patrick merely wanted to have Angela all to himself, to take her out in the pram to the shops and have her fussed over in the street. Most other men in Poplar wouldn't be caught dead doing something so inherently feminine but Patrick, it seemed, did not care one whit.

The thought of this made her smile as she left the house and headed in the direction of Nonnatus House. She had decided to walk today. The snow that had fallen earlier in the week had all but melted and the pavement was wet and shiny in the bright sunlight. It was still a little brisk, though, and by the time she ascended the steps to the hulking stone building, her cheeks were pink from the cold.

Nurse Gilbert greeted her and when Shelagh stated her purpose for the visit, led her on her way.

There were some advantages to having been a nun for ten years, she supposed, like the ability to know exactly when Sister Julienne would be free for a chat, four days before Christmas.

Barbara led her to the sister's office and Shelagh sat herself in the chair in front of the large wooden desk. It was a little warm in the room, as Nurse Gilbert had mentioned Fred was having a little difficulty with the new boiler, so she removed her gloves and removed her coat as she waited, draping it across the chair next to her.

The room was as quiet as it ever was, and Shelagh found herself relaxing in the peace. She had come here because she did not know where else to go. Her mother had been dead for nearly thirty years. Her father was in Aberdeen, still spending more time in the pub than at home, in his sixties now but refusing to show any signs of slowing down. While news of her impending marriage had reached him well, he had offered his only daughter merely a terse congratulations and best wishes for her future. She hadn’t expected him to make the journey all the way to London, but she missed his presence nonetheless. She hadn’t seen him in nearly five years.

Her brother, she supposed, was back from his stint in America, where he’d gone years earlier, looking for work. Correspondence between the siblings had waned as discontent with her vocation had grown. Gordon had never truly understand his sister’s decision to become a nun, and the two had quarrelled over it a great deal in the beginning. He had wanted her back in Aberdeen, married to Harry McLeod, the boy she’d walked out with a few times before she left to become a nurse, no doubt surrounded by a litter of children she couldn’t afford to feed. Gordon Mannion, like his father before him, was not the most progressive of men.

But, after much persuading on her part that she was at her happiest as a nun at Nonnatus House, Gordon conceded, and had let her alone about it from then on. But soon, as it truly started to set in just how much she’d sacrificed, she began to write her brother less and less, unwilling to admit to him that he’d been right. That giving up the hope of finding love and a family of her own was something she’d never be able to resign herself to.

The delivery of baby after baby to couples who openly embraced in joy at the beginning of their child’s life taught her that marriage did not _have_ to be a staid obligation, but rather could be entered into by two consenting individuals who cared very deeply for and even loved one another. To see mothers delight in their little ones, and fathers playing with them with the purest joy on all their faces filled her with longing, both for her own childhood, back when things had been simpler, and for the opportunity to feel that joy a parent feels herself. To be around all that love and not be affected by it would be impossible for even the most bloodless individual. But for young Sister Bernadette it had been the beginning of the end of her devotion to religious life.

She had harboured what had begun as a harmless crush on the dashing Dr. Turner from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, not long after she arrived at Nonnatus in 1948. It was harmless because she was a nun and he was married with a young son. She had been there to comfort him and Timothy, as all the sisters had, during his wife's lengthy illness and eventual death. But when, a year or so later, Shelagh saw her affection for him mirrored back in Dr. Turner's dark eyes, she realised that it was no longer either harmless or hopeless. At some point, they had fallen in love with each other, and there could be no peace in her mind or in her soul until she was at his side, and they were husband and wife.

She'd sent her brother an invitation to the wedding to the last known address she had for him, but it came back to her with "Return to Sender" stamped across it in red. She had no other address for him and father was no help, having not heard from his son in more than a year. And so, much to her disappointment, her brother _hadn’t_ shown up at her wedding with that infuriatingly triumphant expression on his face that only an older brother could give his younger sister when he knew he’d been right all along.

Her father had assured her he’d turn up like he did years before, living in Wales for a year on a sheep farm before he let either Shelagh or her father know, and that he’d pass on any correspondence his son sent him. But two years on she hadn’t hear from either of the men. She knew, eventually, her brother would resurface, as he was wont to do. Maybe with a family of his own in tow this time. It gave her a pang of longing for him, especially now that their own little family was growing. She’d love nothing more than to be able to take the children up to see their grandfather when they got the time (before his steady diet of lager, bannock, and single malt finally did him in) and she would have loved nothing more than to have her brother there as well, regaling the children with stories of their mother and uncle's youth. But her little family reunion would have to wait. She was too pregnant, Patrick was too busy, Angela was too young, Gordon was AWOL, and it was too bloody cold in Aberdeenshire in December.

So, as she could not go to her relatives with her concerns, or to Patrick, either, for the time being, she came here. She had been drawn here, knowing that she needed to speak with Sister Julienne before anyone else in Nonnatus, or even Poplar for that matter, found out about her pregnancy.

“Shelagh?” Came the Sister’s voice from the doorway, stirring her from her reverie. Shelagh stood at once and turned, feeling a rush of affection as Sister Julienne neared her, smiling brightly. “Oh, it’s so lovely to see you,” she said. While she seemed somewhat surprised to see her former postulant waiting for her, she was delighted as well. She placed the books she was carrying on the desk and reached out toward Shelagh, wrapping her in a surprisingly strong embrace. Shelagh sighed deeply, holding on as tightly to Sister Julienne as she could, like a child who wished that mummy could make everything better. Reluctantly, after a few seconds, they separated, Sister Julienne taking her place behind the desk while Shelagh lowered herself back into her chair. She looked up to see the older woman watching her with concern. “I trust that everything is alright?”

Shelagh could only smile at her, and nod. She was having trouble remembering what she had been so worried about in the first place. Just simply being back here in Nonnatus House in this woman's presence had calmed her considerably.

“Erm, yes, yes! Timothy and Angela are doing wonderfully and Patrick seems to have recovered quite well from his…incident with the osteogenesis case.” 

“That is wonderful to hear,” Sister Julienne told her, looking quite pleased. “We were all quite worried about him.” 

Shelagh smiled. “Although, I have to say I worry about him, especially…now,” she said, steeling herself.

Sister Julienne cocked her head to one side, concern knitting her brow. She had always been the sharpest of all the nuns, though her almost serene demeanour belied it at times, and she could see right off that there was something her former Sister needed to get off her chest.

“ _Is_ something the matter, Shelagh? You seem troubled.”

Shelagh laughed nervously, unsure where to start.

“I shouldn’t be, really,” she started, “troubled, that is. Because something has happened that I had been wanting to happen for a long while. Hoping and praying, really, and yet…” She sighed.

“What is it, Shelagh?” The nun’s face was alive with anticipation.

“Truly, I should have figured it out on my own, though I’ve hardly had time to think since I resumed my nursing duties, and with Timothy and Angela to care for…” She shook her head, looking up at Sister Julienne, who was still waiting with bated breath. “I got light-headed in the clinic yesterday, and had a little…fainting spell. Patrick examined me,” she took a big breath, feeling the burn of tears threatening to fall, and looked up at the woman who had been her mother for more years than her own mother had. There was really no other way to describe the relationship between them. “I’m pregnant, Sister Julienne,” Shelagh told her, and watched as the woman’s expression transformed from that of apprehension to one of the most jubilant elation. It was really a lovely thing to see, and Shelagh found her lips pull into a smile almost of their own accord.

“Oh, Shelagh,” she said, rising from her chair, “that’s wonderful!” She nodded as the nun came around the desk to perch on the edge, looking down at her with some concern. “Is it not?” she asked, softly after a few silent seconds had passed.

“No, it is, Sister, it truly is,” Shelagh said, offering an encouraging smile, “Timothy and Patrick are delighted, and Angela will be a lovely big sister.” Shelagh sighed deeply, trying to put her thoughts to words. "But it seems as though this is all happening so fast. I had almost no symptoms at all until very recently, and neither Patrick nor I had expected this, given what the gynecologist who did the surgery told us about the scarring.”

Sister Julienne reached forward and grasped Shelagh’s hand in hers, giving it a firm squeeze. Shelagh clutched it firmly, the contact giving her strength.

“How far along is your pregnancy?”

“Twenty-three weeks, Sister,” Shelagh told her, in disbelief herself still. Sister Julienne looked predictably surprised, looking down at Shelagh’s form for some evidence of this.

“But, child, you scarcely look more than ten or twelve weeks gone,” she told her, with some alarm.

“I know,” Shelagh conceded, looking down at her abdomen. She had worn a loose frock today, having found that the skirts that had fit her not more than two weeks previous no longer did. She placed her hand over the little mound where the child, no doubt awoken by its mother’s wildly beating heart, had begun to stir. “But there’s no denying it, I’m afraid,” she told the woman, who was gazing at Shelagh’s abdomen with a wistful smile. “Patrick did the measurements himself, and listened to the heartbeat. And baby’s an active one. Hardly gives me a moment’s rest.” She smiled up at Sister Julienne. “I’m afraid I’ll be giving birth in not more than four months, and I’m sure you can imagine that it’s been a bit of a shock.”

“I’m sure it has been quite a surprise,” Sister Julienne said softly.

“We missed all those early months, all that time we could have spent preparing. Angela’s not even reached her first birthday and Timothy’s still a child in so many ways. They both need so much attention and I’m afraid I’ll be stretched a little thin with a new baby, and with the surgery and with the clinic.” She sighed, and Sister Julienne gave her hand another squeeze. “And I’m afraid of letting Patrick down. He works _so_ hard. I’m worried that if I’m not there, he’ll take on too much and if something goes wrong again he could—” Tears started to fall, then, and Sister Julienne crouched down before her, trying to catch Shelagh’s eye.

“All these fears are quite normal, Shelagh, you must know that.” She nodded, wiping at the tears that just wouldn’t stop lately. “But I suppose that does not make them any less upsetting.” Sister Julienne sighed, “I trust you are happy about the child, though, are you not?”

Shelagh smiled wetly, and nodded. “Oh, I’m absolutely thrilled, Sister, I really am. I still can’t quite believe it, but I can’t wait to meet this little one. I can’t wait for Angela to see her and for the two of them to play together when they’re older. Patrick is already ecstatic. The smile’s barely left his face since he found out. And Timothy, oh, he’s been brilliant. He can’t wait to tell everyone. And truthfully, neither can I.” She laughed, letting herself be joyful, if only for a moment. “I feel like this baby will make our family complete. Three children, all born to different mothers, but you’d never know it. There’s so much love, Sister, more than enough to go around.”

Sister Julienne smiled up at her. “Shelagh, you know I can’t promise that this is going to be easy, or that there won’t be some bumps along the way, but I think you need to realise that you are not alone. Really, that you never have been. Just as we were here to help the Noakes family along the way, we will be here to help you and Patrick. The two of you have been indispensable to Nonnatus House. I shudder to think of all the women and babies who would have lost their lives if not for the pair of you. You both have given so much to us and to the community that you need not want for any help during your pregnancy and even after the baby’s born. It’s what we do.” Shelagh nodded, feeling the tension leave her, bit by bit. Sister Julienne’s words had always soothed her in a way that no one else could. “Now, if I can give you a little bit of advice, it's that you look at this as a blessing. It is true that the work will still need to be done without any regard for your condition, but that does not mean that you must continue to serve the community as diligently as you have been. There is no shame in taking rest when you need it. One of our nurses will gladly help out at the surgery any time you need them to. And I want you to think, Shelagh, about what a gift this child is. You know there was very little chance of this baby being conceived. But it has been. Life has found a way, so do try to remember how excited you are about this impending arrival, how happy your family is, and try to overlook your worries. I am sure that things will work themselves out. They usually do. Do you think you can do that?”

Shelagh nodded, slowly, taking in the words. She supposed she was being silly, fretting so much. This would be another journey for the Turner family, another storm to weather if something went wrong, and they had already managed the bumps in the road so well together that this should be no bother. Everything would work out in the long run, surely?

“Now, I’m sure you will need a few days to come to terms with your pregnancy, and I will respect your wishes if you do not want to announce it right away. But once you do, you’ll be expected to register with a midwife attend the antenatal clinic like all the other pregnant women in Poplar. I think you’ll find that having someone to help you along the way will ease some of your fears. Is that agreeable?”

Shelagh nodded, feeling the blush start to creep up her cheeks. The fact that she’d have to be attended to like some naïve young newlywed seemed a little preposterous. “Thank you, Sister,” she said, nonetheless. “You’ve always been so kind to me.” Sister Julienne laughed softly.

“You deserve all the kindness in the world, Shelagh. Don’t ever let yourself believe that you do not,” she said. “Now, I am going to down to the kitchen to get two mugs of Horlicks, as I have been told by the nurses that it cures all that ails you.” Shelagh smiled and nodded at the Sister as she got up, heading downstairs to the kitchen.

She listened to her footfalls until they faded, leaving her alone with her thoughts again. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself and her emotions, which had been ridiculously volatile as of late, mulling over all that Sister Julienne had just said to her. She knew that the majority of what she'd said was right. Things had a way of working themselves out. They would manage, one way or another.

But, she supposed, and maybe this was the root of what was bothering her, things wouldn’t be the same as they had been with just the four of them. Two children were easy to keep an eye on, easy to ensure each got enough attention and had their needs met.

Three would be a challenge. Their previously orderly life would become chaotic, feeding and changing a newborn all hours while Angela, still very much a baby herself, would need the same. And not to mention Timothy's schoolwork and after-school activities, and giving him enough attention so that he didn't feel left out. The thought of all of this scared her a little; the inability to keep things organized and under control when she’d lived such a regimented and unchanging life for ten years.

But this was what she had wanted, was it not? An escape from the abstinence and the routine? What she’d longed for all those nights as she’d listened to the nurses drinking and gossiping about boys and work, or getting all kitted up to go out to the pictures or to a dance. All that _fun_ and _life_ she had been so desperate to join in on. But then she’d gone from nun to fiancée in one day. She hadn’t been really truly free for very much of her life at all. And now, barely two years after turning in her habit, she was to become the mother of three.

She supposed _her_ married life allowed her much more freedom than that of a lot of other women. Her husband was a wonderful, intelligent, forward-thinking man who surely did not expect his wife to give up the career she loved so much and spend it all her time at home. And he involved himself in the child-rearing without hesitation; changing nappies, midnight feedings, playing with baby for hours. It wasn’t as if she felt trapped, like so many of the women she’d attended to all those years. Her home was happy and her marriage was lovelier than she’d ever dreamed it could be. Those days of her twenties and early thirties when most girls were either shopping for a husband or for a career had been spent devoting herself to God and to obstetric medicine. And she didn't regret it. It had been what she thought was the right path.

For now she would just have to face the uncertainty, she supposed, believe that life would be all the richer with another child, a child that would be, above all, loved. How could it not be? Already she knew of at least three people who were thinking about it, wondering what it was going to look like, be like, whether it was a boy or a girl. They were excited for its birth. And Tim was right; everyone at Nonnatus House would be just as thrilled.

And although she'd never lamented the lack of genetic ties between her and the children, she supposed it would be lovely to have a little miniature version of Patrick running about. A little girl with jet-black hair and that crooked grin of his. Shelagh smiled at the thought. And just as the way a child's upbringing had a lifelong impact on them, heredity was a powerful factor, too. She could see it with Tim and Patrick, in all those little similarities they had, and in how Shelagh and her brother had resembled each other when they were growing up. It would be a whole new experience. To give birth to a child who would be part her and part Patrick who would look like the both of them? She smiled. It would be nothing if not interesting.

She knew that Patrick deserved to hear these concerns of hers. The two of them had barely gotten half an hour to speak about their impending arrival the day before. And today would be just as busy. She hoped they’d get some time as Christmas neared. She needed him to know about her fears, even if he thought they were silly or unfounded, they still needed to communicate with each other about it. They’d learned the hard way with Angela’s adoption what happened when they kept secrets from each other. She _never_ wanted that to happen again. She promised herself that she’d set aside some time in the coming days to _really_ talk with him, hopefully before the residents of Poplar caught wind of her condition and it spread like wildfire, and suddenly everyone and their dog wanted to congratulate them.

She heard footsteps and came back to the present to see Sister Julienne carrying a tray upon which sat two steaming mugs and two small plates with slivers of white cake upon them. Shelagh laughed, feeling all her uncertainty slide away, for, at that moment, in the company she was in, in this stifling yet oddly comforting office, with hot chocolate and cake, she felt as though life truly couldn't get much better than this.


End file.
